Loatonial was not one to be trifled with, or at least, so she thought; as a Dark Elf she was supposed to have the ability to intimidate others and laugh at their misdirections, but alas, she found herself in want of those attributes. Her grandfather-who she had only met face-to-face mere months ago- was the only person who was cold enough to rule with an iron fist, yet be so completely likeable. But that is not the only reason why she wanted to become queen over this land. No, it was not the only reason why she wanted to burn a hole through the king, who just so happened to be her uncle.Her father, Bolchon, was murdered by her uncle-Locien-the now present king of this land; Bolchons' death was supposedly justified with the fact that he had threatened her uncles' lover-or slut, or wife, whatever you want to call her-and made treasonous attacks on the kingdom. No matter who told her, whether it was from her mother, or her friend....or Peter-she wouldn't believe them. She couldn't believe them. Yes, it was true that her father was never really around for her during her childhood; and yes, her and her mother were forced to live in a stinky fish town miles away from their kingdom, all for the sake of 'safety', but she wouldn't believe it. The times her father had spent visiting them in their 'safe' town were memories that she would always hold onto. Her father had taught her how to fight-both with weapons and without, but the most exciting thing that he taught her was how to use her special skill. He showed her how to play with fire. At first it was difficult, and she more often than not burned her hands, but her hands finally grew callous enough to where handling the fire in her hands didn't hurt. When her father went away on trips, she practiced every single day for hours on end until she could shoot fireballs and spray sparks that turned into flames. And now, as she watched her uncle sit on the throne as he spoke with his advisors with his minuscule wife sitting beside him, she couldn't help but stare at him. She would best him. Her father would get his vengeance soon enough. But she couldn't do it alone. She needed help.So, with a swift turn on her heel, Loatonial took great strides back to her chambers and began to furiously write letters of urgency and addressed them to all of their enemies' kings in the hopes that one of them would come to her aid. After giving her letters to the guards, she watched the letters go into a pack and off with the messenger as he rode into the dying sunlight.

"If you hadn't been so damned reckless we wouldn't be in this predicament now would we?" A clearly angry voice bellowed. The man being held under the heavy boot at his throat struggled to get free, finding no purchase in the muddied ground below him.

"Falkor please, I...I'll pay you back! I promise! Please!" The man pleaded, his dirty hands clutching at the boot nearly crushing his windpipe. The man whom the boot belonged to looked down at the man, arms crossed and expression unreadable.

"You're lucky that I'm in a good mood." Falkor spoke, relieving some of the pressure from the downed man's throat until he was able to scramble to his knees.

"Th...thank you! I would disappoint you again captain." The man sputtered as he got shakily to his feet. A slow grin spread across Falkor's face before he answered.

"No, you won't. Three seconds." The man looked confused, his eyes following his captain's hand to the pistol hanging at his hip. Then it made sense. Not even bothering to turn and run, the man bolted straight past the tall man.

"One." Falkor counted, turning on his heel and pulling the pistol out. The man fell with a cry, his skull shattered from the impact of the ball. As Falkor watched the body slump into the mud, he felt a presence at his elbow.

"Captain, sir, this here letter was on it's way to the chief. Thought you'd want to take a look first." A short man handed the envelope up to Falkor who sliced it open with a small knife before pulling the folded sheet out and reading it.

Looks like their southern brethren were having some problems.

"Set sails for Aldavia, boys." A cheer went up as the remaining crew members hurried to carry out their captain's orders, not wanting to follow in the footsteps of their dead comrade.

Mikael was stalking his prey, someone was stupid enough to wonder into his forest, this was his home, and everyone knew of the crazy man in the forest, and avoided as there life's depended on it, because in most cases it did. notching a arrow in his bow which had became difficult since he lost his digits, but he was becoming use to holding his bow string with his middle and ring finger. he exhaled and let his rage fly, striking his target in the spinal column. hearing the shout of pain, and watching the bod fall to the ground, and seeing where the arrow had struck, he knew the man was yet to die. he made over to the man, taking out his dagger. he laughed as he grabbed the mans forehead, pulling back the head, and placing the blade against the mans throat before sliding the metal against the soft skin of the throat he spoke. "Don't you know bad life chooses can get you killed."

after Mikael cleaning his blade he searched the body he had to have something important on him if he came into his forest yes? after a few moments he pulled forward a letter addressed to him oddly enough. he tilted his head as he opened it and read the contents. a small smile grased his visage across his face as he crumpled the letter in his left hand. a call to arms against the very man how robbed him of his digits before becoming king, he ran as fast as he could humanly do back to his camp gathered his things, and began his journey. normally he would never accept something like this.... but this, this was a special occasion. he chuckled as he walked through the nearby village, everyone ran for there homes, or any nearby safe building. the Forest demon Swift Death was leaving.

Loatonial watched the sun fall behind the glassy sea, and from her window-which was high in the fortress walls-she imagined the arrival of her aid. Of all the Kings, Chiefs, and thieves that she called upon, she knew that she could rely on two men for help: Falkor the Viking-who was not known for his mercy, and a man people called Swift Death. Both of these men were more than capable of giving her what she wanted, but then again, they might be too capable, and much too willing to kill without regard to anyone else or anything. She would need to let these men know who was in charge of this plan. And if they rebelled against her? Well, they would meet her fury. The only man, or elf, who would die was going to be her uncle. Everyone else would be left alone. A sigh escaped the Dark Elf's lips as she turned away from the window, for her thoughts had led her to her almost husband-Peter. Sorrow and guilt started to grip her heart and cause her tears to fall down her face, but she shut her eyes and shook her head in an effort to push those thoughts aside. Now was not the time for memories. Now was the time for her to ride out and meet the kingdoms who were coming to her aid. After she had finished packing, she pinned a cloak around her neck and snuck down to the stables where she soon took off down the cobblestone road and headed off to the shore line. In her letters that she sent out, she specified that each leader meet her in the 'The Lonely Sprite', an Inn that lay just a block away from the docks. She would be sitting by a table next to the firepit, sipping a dark red wine and waiting.

Tina came on her late shift at the Lonely Sprite Inn a bit late. She had slept all day and not woken up in time, and knew she should not remain out after she leaves work. She brushed out her dress and put on her apron, and was immediately handed a tray of mugs and wineglasses."You're doing dished before you go tonight Tina"The manager said, looking hard at her."Now, go serve the beer to the table in the corner, and this glass of wine to the one sitting by the firepit."Tina snorted at him, having a mind to prank him. She ambled off to the table and set the mugs before the soldiers, notong their uniforms and insignia. Men from a visiting kingdom she noted, then went and set the glass of wine before the solitary woman."Expecting someone?"Tina asked, trying to make smalltalk. She had no idea the inn was about to fill with people from many kingdoms. She was going to have a busy night.

_________________

It is by will alone I set my mind in motion.It is by the juice of Sapho that thoughts acquire speed,the lips acquire stains, stains become a warning.It is by will alone I set my mind in motion.-Piter DeVries

I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer.Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration.I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me.And when my fear is gone I will turn and face fear's path, and only I will remain.-Paul Atreides

Once she rid the table by the fire-pit of its' occupants, Loatonial sat down and crossed her legs and let her hands rest on the table as she watched the customers eat and drink while the understaffed manager ran around, busing tables and greeting guests. The corners of her mouth tilted into a small smirk at the frustration and hidden desperation hiding behind the managers' eyes. She had ordered her glass of wine when she came inside the Inn, and she was about to start making a scene when a woman approached her. Loatonial blinked and shifted her cat-like eyes up at the maid, but did not respond. Instead, she picked up her glass and lifted it to her lips, then took a small sip and rested it on the table again. "If I was not waiting for someone, do you really think that I would have come to this wretched establishment?" She tilted her head to the side and arched her brow as she watched the maid blush. "You cannot disagree with me, girl, because you know it to be true. Now then. I am going to need fresh bread and ale for my...friends, as well as some privacy."

The trip to Aldavia was fairly uneventful. The crew of the Norðanvindurinn had been granted decent weather with no storm, and as such made it to their destination with few problems, and only two men lighter. Falkor strode from the ship, expression stern as his eyes took in the land around him. He had never actually been to this area before, frequenting the more northern borders and villages scattered along the coastlines.

Pulling the letter out, he read over where each recipient was to meet. The Lonely Sprite inn. Choosing two of his men who had been with him for years, proving their loyalty to the captain, Falkor sent them off to find the establishment. It didn't take them long to find it thankfully, the viking's temper already worked up by the foolishness of the people stumbling around on the docks. Following the pair, Falkor expressed his distaste of the inn with a grimace. True, he had been to places far worse, but that didn't mean he didn't appreciate quality as well.

Pushing the door open, Falkor eyed the room and its occupants carefully. A few averted their gaze as soon as the viking's attention swept over them, while others openly gawked at the man. Narrowing his eyes, Falkor dismissed his men and continued looking for the person he, or rather, the chief, was to meet. Spotting a young woman seated near the firepit, Falkor stalked over and dropped the letter on the table.

"I assume this is from you?" He commented, voice heavy with his northern accent. He wondered how she would react should his assumption be correct. The letter had been addressed to the ruling chief of his homeland, his sorry excuse for a father. The fact that Falkor's men had intercepted the carrier first meant that the chief had no knowledge of what was happening in the foreign land.

Mikael was not going to this meeting alone, he was to skeptical of it to do so even if it promised him some revenge, he sent our his call to the nearby forest Bandits, he's merry group of four, and one by one his ranks swelled, with men as equally talented as him, the four masked men know as the Horsemen made there way to where Mikael was to meet this women, it took them a weeks time to travel the distance. however the did arrive with little trouble killing any guards that stood in there way. one by one they went into this tavern, each taking up different positions to increase there chances of cutting down anyone foolish enough to try and apprehend them.

Swift was the last to enter some minutes behind the rest of his band, his men dressed as some rangers they had ambushed on there way to there meeting spot at The Lonely Spirit Inn, he's eye scanned the room looking for any give away to the presence of bounty hunters, once he was content that he was indeed safe at the moment he approached the table where a dark skinned elf, and a northern man where, the wine glass his indication as to who he was to be meeting, as he moved to the table he wave three fingers behind his back twice, then held down one, his right hand man, know as Hunger soon joined him. the two shady figures leaning against the wall sharing a conversation in a code they had crafted from scratch, before Hunger stepped forward.

"Heard you where looking for me." meanwhile Swift slowly gripped his dagger under his cloak, ready to take the life of anyone who tried to even looked like they would try to touch the man masquerading as him. he's eyes never leaving the north man, oh how he wanted him to be the one to try something.

Loatonial shifted her gaze once again upon hearing a quiet murmur resonate throughout the busy Inn; the corner of her lips lifted into a smile as she watched the large, Northern Men walk into the common room, their eyes searching for her. Her smile broadened as one of them-the leader, she hoped-sauntereed towards her. He was quite attractive, and indeed, looked the part of the chief of the Northern Men. Once he stood before her, she dropped her gaze to her letter, then lifted her gaze again to meet his as she took a slow drink of the red liquid. Instead of answering him, she slowly lowered her eyes as she looked him over, but returned her gaze back to his upon hearing an angry sound issue from behind his teeth. "You assume correctly, Northerner."

She paused for a moment and shifted her gaze as a hooded and masked man emerged next to the Viking; but he did not look like the man she had called upon. She arched a brow and her smile faded, but she played along with him. At least she would for now. "Yes, I was indeed looking for such a man as you." She lifted her glass and swirled the liquid inside before glancing down at the two chairs opposite her. "You may sit, good sirs. All the guards are within the fortress walls protecting the king, so there is no need to hide amongst the shadows."

Tina shook her head at the words. Yes, this was a dump of miscreants, and the owner was a greedy ogre. Tina had many times thought of using some of what she had learned to have the place catch fire, but she didn’t want to kill anybody, and there was always somebody here…

The place filled with people from faraway places, strangers who had some of the regulars finish their ales and leave. The first ones appeared to be Northmen, or what she had heard they looked like. She was off to ask what they wanted to drink when the door opened, and a band of rough-looking men came in. The may be mercenaries or rangers or something, and they set themselves around the room I strategic places to keep a watch. Tina hope no trouble was coming, but that was the nature of this place. Another man walked in the door and went straight to the firepit. The two who appeared to be the leaders were invited to sit with the dark elf at the firepit, so Tina walked over and asked,“Could I get you and your men anything to drink? We have a fine ale, a dark with a good hoppy bitterness, which is better than the watery swill.”Tina felt like she was interrupting but it was her job. She looked at the other two northmen, then to the other men who had come in, and a couple more regulars downed their drinks and decided to leave.

Mikael man hunger waved his hand dismissively. "No, and no. My people are just fine where they are at, and with what they have, you must understand we have to be suspicious of the this, we all happen to be..... very popular all around the land." now that the man had spoken more then a few words it was clear that he had a eastern accent, slightly rough and dry as if he talked very little. it was true that the mans eyes where different from Mikael. he looked over his shoulder, and throw up two fingers, waving them back and forth very slightly. hunger began to speak in the eastern language, seeing no one of eastern decent in the vicinity "Ne dvigaytes', dazhe yesli chto-to nagrevayetsya, chto my dolzhny delat' Swift?" (Don't move even if things get heated, what should we do Swift?) to which the clocked figure near the side of the table acting as if he was the man's bodyguard shoot back. "Prosto vyyasnite, kakogo cherta ona khochet." (Just figure out what the hell she wants.) Hunger then took a seat at the table. "So shall we get to business as to why we where gathered here."

Falkor glanced to the door when it opened, letting in a group of men, one of who approached the table he currently stood at. The viking's attention returned to the seated woman when she acknowledged both his, and this other man's assumptions. Seeing the displeasure on her face at the presence of the hooded man, Falkor took a step aside, his own fingers drifting to his belt where he held a small knife. He would have preferred his axes, but they would have drawn much more attention than the hidden blade.

Hearing the woman's offer to take a seat, Falkor chose to remain standing, dark eyes never leaving the other man. He didn't trust him, but then again, the feeling was probably mutual. The Northman saw the other woman approaching before asking them about drinks. He already knew that his men would take full advantage of being here, the rest of his crew having to make due with whatever was left on board, or risk leaving the ship to find drink elsewhere. For the moment, the captain was fine. He didn't need his senses dulled by drink just yet, not until he knew more of what was going on. As the other man turned to speak to one of the others he had come in with, Falkor's hand closed loosely around the handle of his knife.

It was with great suspicion that the viking finally took a seat, turned slightly in his seat as to keep the two others in his sight. He asked roughly the same thing that was on his mind, so Falkor simply turned his attention to the woman, curious as to what she was after.

Loatonial smiled reassuringly at the Eastern, hooded man, but there was no kindness in her eyes....there was only suspicion mixed with amusement...especially after the hooded man in front of her spoke to one of his comrades in a language unknown to her. As she waited, she noticed the subtle movements of the Northerner, then picked up her glass and took a small sip of the red liquid-grimacing slightly as the acidic liquid burned on it's way down her throat. She set her glass down moments after the two men took their seats....both of whom rejected the offer of ale.

She lifted her chin slightly and removed a ring from her pointer finger after which she carefully set it down on the table in front of them. It was no ordinary ring. It was her uncles' crest: two sparrows flying in a circle with a green stone in the middle. "The business is simple, but...complex. I need King Locien, my uncle-dead." She paused for a moment as she watched the faces of the men whom she had called upon. "He murdered my father...without trial, or witnesses...and I believe he also murdered my grandfather. I have called upon you two because I have heard of your great ambitions and victories. You are the best of the best. So what do you say, boys?"

Hunger leaned forward with interest, but before he could speak Mikael burst into laughter, and step to the table, having Hunger swap places with him. "now your speaking my language, I half though this would be some poor excuse of a ambush. His eyes giving a dead stared at the Northman. "oh how I would have relished seeing your blood dress my blade." he suddenly slammed his fist to the table, causing a loud thump of wood and a instant change of pace in the situation. "why are we waiting we have a king to kill." his hands coming up to grip his head as his eyes rolled back into his head as if he was in pure ecstasy. "I can taste the blood already." the remaining three started to close in and stand behind Mikael. "meet the four horsemen. You newly found assassins." it would seem Mikael was already on board, even if he had drawn his dagger and pressed it to the Northmans gut. "You would do well to not cross me.... Either of you." and with that his dagger found its sheath once more. "will be waiting outside, finish your talks with the unneeded talent." the four soon thereafter departed from the establishment. Mikael staring at the nearby waitress as he left.

Tina caught word of some plot against the king, and knew that should any of the king’s spies hear such talk, he would bring sedition charges against everyone in town. So Tina did what barmaids do and remained part of the barroom scenery, listening and watching, and making sure any of the faces in the common room were not those of King Locien’s informants. Tina thought it safe for now, but for a couple unfamiliar faces that stood by the bar who appeared to be traveling merchants. When she started around again, she could see some dispute with a well concealed knife drawn. Tina took a breath, expecting to be cleaning up blood again soon, but it ended without incident and the man sheathed his blade and he and his companions walked out. Tina had to step wide for he was going to walk right through her, and as she leaned back trying to keep the tankards balanced on her tray, he gave her a long hard look.

“What are you lookin’ at?”

Tina inquired as he left. She wasn’t sure if she gave him any pause but she looked him over as well.

Falkor watched the woman remove her ring, examining it the best he could without actually picking it up. From the looks of it, the piece could fetch a fair price from some of the traders he knew. What had the viking pulling his dark gaze from the ring and back to the woman was the murder she wished to have happen.

It was a bold statement to make, especially in a place such as this where the loose lips of a drunkard could spill all your secrets without a second thought. Upon hearing what came next, Falkor could understand why she was so eager to have her uncle dead. Of course, had something similar happened in his own homeland, no one would have batted an eye. Kill or be killed, that was just how it was.

Warming to the idea, his axe having seen little blood shed in a short time, Falkor’s attention was drawn to the changing of places of the man beside him with another of his group.

“I can tell you the feeling was and still is mutual.” The viking sneered at the man. As the man slammed his hand on the table, Falkor’s eyes narrowed at him. Feeling the blade drawn on him, Falkor’s hand flew to his own, not leaving the handle even as the weapon directed at him was taken away. Watching with distaste as the man and his group left, Falkor swung his attention back to the woman.

“And you want us to work with that filth?” He inclined his head towards the door. “I’ve seen better crawling through the streets on their bellies after a full night of rum.” Crossing his arms, Falkor continued, a scowl on his face. “I may not be the man you had originally hoped for, judging by who the letter was addressed to, but I can assure you, I am much better suited for the job.”

Noting how his men had already indulged in the ale, Falkor waved the barwoman from earlier over.

“I hope you weren’t expecting this sort of assistance for free.” He directed to the woman seated across from him. “Miss…” He trailed off, hoping for a name by which to call her.

Loatonial pursed her lips and leaned forward as she watched the threat-filled exchange between the northern and the hooded man. Her amusement was short-lived, however as the hooded bandits swiftly made their way out of the tavern to apparently take care of her problem. If they only knew of the intense security around her uncle and the fortress, then they would realize that their only way inside would be through her.

"Bastards. Do they really think the task would be that easy to carry out?" Loatonial rolled her eyes then lifted her glass to her lips and took a slow sip, listening to the northerners' disgust at working with the other men.

A small smile returned to the corner of her lips though, for the Viking seemed interested in striking up a deal.

"Of course...I didn't actually care whose hands the letter sat in, just so long as someone came to my aid, I am content." She took the stem of her wine glass and began to swirl the red liquid around, then set it down on the table in front of her and extended a delicate, pale hand.

" You can call me Loatonial; you will receive your payment once everything has settled, Northerner."

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